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July 10, 2010

A letter to Liz McClure, chocolate eater

Dear Liz,

We read with rapt fascination your horrifying tale of confectionery debauchery that unfolded one seemingly banal afternoon in the dazzling metropolis of Renfrewshire, Scotland. Apparently, you were curling up to eat your way through a package of Cadbury nibbles when you came frightfully close to wrapping your lips around (and sucking the goo from) a three-inch penis-shaped treat.

We sympathize with your subsequent crusade against sweets-related smut (which appears to be something of a pandemic in the Queen's realm). Furthermore, we share your adamant fury with Cadbury for refusing to apologize for nearly forcing you to engage in unwitting oral with a disembodied (albeit caramel-filled) negro appendage.

We've lost sleep over it, Liz. We've obsessed over it.

And here are the take-aways:

Society has gotten itself into a depraved state when a gal can't cope with her sexual obsolescence by devouring a package of nibbles without being confronted with a rude reminder of why she turns to the comforting embrace of chocolate to begin with.

We agree with your righteously irritated claim that your toddler grandson could have gotten into your chocolates and enjoyed his first taste of juicy brown "cockolate." Indeed, two-and-a-half is far too young to ride black stallion 'round the track, and it's best to keep such nauseating ideas from his impressionable mind at least through kindergarten.

The next time the echo from your forelorn uterus and the draft from your abandoned vagina compels you to fill your emptiness with cocoa-derived sublimation, you'll be confronted by the traumatizing memory of the engorged member, its swollen brown testes and life-like veiny shaft pointing angrily at your various orifices, daring you to thumb a ride down the hershey highway.

We applaud your courage and fortitude; instead of gobbling the engorged
underpants rocket and feeling remorseful and dirty, you saved it and phoned the tabloids so you could hold it in your frigid hands (we notice it's not melting) for a dignified photo session. Stay classy, Liz.

We agree that the offending nibble had to have been the creation of a sex-crazed deviate chocolate factory employee, some nymphomaniac oompa-loompa must have fashioned the nubian phallus for the express purpose of getting something nasty past your lips. No, the negro pants worm is far too glorious an invention to have happened by mistake, an unfortunate "melting of three nibbles" as Cadbury dubiously claims (after all, they've recently been acquired by Kraft, who claims Velveeta is cheese). On this point, we find ourselves alarmed to be siding with the creationists. Because if the chocolate penis haunting your nightmares is really just the result of a manufacturing glitch, that would raise suspicions that you're a cranky old biddy and next week you're likely to be outraged by the appearance of an Asian clitoris in your bowl of frankenberries. And that would make you a filthy-minded old broad. Agreed?

At any rate Liz, we sincerely hope you recover from the trauma and find something more Christian on which you may suck without feeling like the scabby-kneed Aberdeen strumpet you're terrified of becoming.

xoxWAM

***

ATTENTION WAM-KATEERS: News of our (and COWA's) demise has been greatly exaggerated. More to come. And more often.Your prodigal Ass-Whupper has returned. So bend over.

"Scabby-kneed Aberdeen strumpet"? FUNNY! (Also, a good name for a band.) Y'know, Cadbury could have discovered a niche market here. Tell me that you wouldn't want to pick up a box of these, especially if they made them with a variety of flavors! Milk chocolate with caramel, white chocolate with raspberry, dark chocolate with orange, etc...and choco-snatchies for those so inclined, too!

@psychokitty: Scabby Knees and the Aberdeen Strumpets would be an all-girl thrash metal bagpipe orchestra, with hits like "Eat your haggis, pig" and "Blowing up Brigadoon." We'd totally download that shizzle from iTunes.